“Oh,” she said, trying to make sense of the news flash.
A useless endeavor. She couldn’t… wasn’t able to…
Good lord, he was real? Beyond a shadow of doubt
Confusion circled, whacking her with a stick full of “holy crap.” He shifted—widening his stance, blocking the corridor, cranking his hands into twin fists—and J.?J. stared at him, forcing herself to reevaluate. Okay, no need to panic. So he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. So he looked like death come calling. So the guy next to him didn’t look any less lethal. So…
Oh, baby Jesus in a bread basket. Someone help her. He was on the move.
Shoulders rolling, long legs eating the distance, he strode up the corridor toward her. Leather creaked and time faded, warping awareness until all she saw was him. Her heart paused mid-thump, then rebounded, throbbing in time with his footfalls. Boom-boom-pause. Boom-boom-throb. Each beat spiraled out, filling her head until static buzzed between her temples. Soft, intense, beyond strange, an electric current flowed on supercharged wings. Her skin prickled, making the fine hairs at her nape stand on end. One instant merged with the next as his heart beat a drum inside her own veins.
Only then did she understand. He was more than real. He was a force of nature: confident in his approach, commanding in the moment, all his focus on her.
A man from another world. The angel of death. He was… he was…
Oh crap. That’s why she recognized him. Anyone would. Death took all forms, after all. And his? The glamour and beauty—his otherworldly quality—made perfect sense. Her time was up. He’d come to punch her ticket. Now she would be made to pay for her mistakes. Be taken to the one place J.?J. knew she deserved to go. She’d known the price for pulling the trigger. For becoming judge and jury. For taking another’s life.
Eternal restitution in hell.
Murderers, after all, didn’t deserve second chances, but… God. She wasn’t ready to go. Not right now. Too much had been left unsaid. So much undone. All of her wrongs yet to be righted.
Tears welled, burning her throat.
“No.” Shaking her head, she met the dark angel’s gaze, a desperate plea in her own. Maybe if she begged, Mr. Gorgeous-Death-Angel would show her mercy, come back some other night… take her another time. After she’d made amends, gotten to say all the sorrys she owed, starting with the biggest one of all. Her sister. Tania deserved an apology. The words, sure, but also the remorse and closure behind them. She needed one last hug. One more shared meal. A night spent talking, the privilege of contact and a proper good-bye. “I’m not ready to go. Not yet. I’ll go quietly, I promise, just… please come back later.”
Bafflement winged across the dark angel’s face.
“Just a little more time. That’s all I need. Please, I—”
“Easy.” A large hand landed on her shoulder. With a gentle tug, Azrad drew her back, resettling her in the wheelchair. “Apologies, Nightfury. Too much Demerol. She’s a little loopy.”
“Back away from her,” the dark angel said, his voice soft yet somehow deadly. “And I’ll let you live.”
“You’re a bad liar. Tell you what though…” Azrad paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ll relinquish her without a fight… for a price.”
“Name it,” the blond guy said.
J.?J. frowned, her gaze ping-ponging between the two. Huh. Two death angels for the price of one. And the blond one? He was beautiful too, although not in the same way. His dark-haired companion appealed to her more. Sexy vibe. Gorgeous face. Incredible body. A thirteen and a half out of ten on her yum-o-meter, which…
Was just plain wrong. In major ways.
Dear God, what was the matter with her? No way should she be admiring him. The guy planned to kill her, for pity’s sake. Take her straight to hell, and what was she doing? Scoping him out. Singing his praises. Imagining what notes he might make her hit in bed.
“A meet and greet.” Rubber tires humming against hospital floor, Azrad walked her backward. As he retreated, the death angels advanced. “Bastian’s presence is required.”
“Not going to happen,” the dark angel said, an underlying snarl in his voice.
“Two choices, Nightfury.” With a quick shift, Azrad slipped his hand over her shoulder. J.?J. flinched, shock spinning a sticky web as he palmed the front of her throat. Pressing his thumb against her jugular, he brought her chin up and tilted her head back. “You agree or I snap her neck.”
Immobilized, J.?J. jerked in her seat to break his hold. Too little, too late. She got nowhere. Azrad was too strong. Her injuries made her weak. And with her reflexes obliterated by drugs, her chances of breaking free landed somewhere south of zero. She swallowed against the hand gripping her throat. A sitting duck. Out of her league. Bait for Mr. Gorgeous. All of which Azrad had intended from the beginning.
Golden eyes aglow, Mr. Gorgeous growled.
The blond bared his teeth on a curse.
J.?J. gasped, the sound panicked as helplessness swamped her. She tried anyway. Fighting the lockdown, she grabbed Azrad’s forearm. Her nails bit deep to gouge his skin. With a “fuck,” Azrad tightened his grip, and she wheezed, struggling to draw air into her lungs. A tremor rolled through her. Fear followed, diving deep to unearth self-preservation. But it was too late. She knew it. So did Azrad. The jerk had played her to perfection.
And fool that she was, she’d let her guard down. Had ignored instinct—every lesson she’d learned in prison, surrounded by violent offenders—allowing Azrad to slip under her radar. Now she would pay the ultimate price.
Azrad wasn’t playing. She felt it in the strength of his grip. Recognized it in the flex and release of his muscled arm. Heard the warning in the intensity of his tone.
J.?J.’s breath hitched on a sob. Life or death. He now held hers in the palm of his hand.
“Azrad?”
“Stay very still, sunshine,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.
“You’re hurting me,” she rasped, pulling at his wrist. “Please let go.”
He grumbled something. J.?J. wanted to believe it was “sorry,” but she wasn’t that naive. He had her by the throat, so… no. Only a fool would believe he felt remorse for holding her prisoner.
Mr. Gorgeous took another step toward her.
“Half a second, that’s all it’ll take.” Azrad tensed. J.?J. winced as his big hand pressed against her windpipe. “Not enough time for you to reach her, Nightfury. So you decide… a dead female or a friendly chat with your commander. What’s it gonna be?”
He didn’t answer, just kept coming, moving closer in small increments.
The blond guy’s gaze narrowed. “You’re no rogue. What pack do you call home?”
“Your answer, warrior,” Azrad said, a lethal edge in his tone.
“Where and when?”
“Starbucks… 1st Avenue and Pike. Tomorrow at midnight.”
The blond nodded. “Done.”
“Excellent,” Azrad murmured. “She’s a lovely female. I would have hated to hurt her.”
“Let her go.” Chilled by violence, the dark angel’s voice slithered through the quiet. Goosebumps erupted, spreading like frost across J.?J.’s skin.
“With pleasure.” With a quick hand, Azrad released the death grip. As she sucked in a quick breath, he grasped the back of her wheelchair. “Hold on tight, Jamison Jordan. He’ll catch you… I promise.”
The lilt of his tone warned her. Intuition spiked. Comprehension followed, laying out Goth Guy’s plan like tracks on a runway. “Don’t! Azrad… don’t!”
Too late.
With a hard shove, he sent her rolling. Rubber wheels hummed as she rocketed down the middle of the hallway. Horror shoved shock out of the way. J.?J. yelled. Both angels cursed. The IV bag bounced off the metal pole stand, and the speed increased. Careening out of control, J.?J. curled her hands around the steel armrests. As her knuckles turned white, each breath came hard, ramping into hyperventilation. Oh God. Oh no. Jesus help her. She was headed for a fall, a serious bone-cracking tumble.
The slam-bang of combat boots echoed down the corridor.
Perception warped and time stretched, spinning everything into slow motion. Fierce golden eyes met hers.
